


Damned Angels and their Angelic Pokerfaces

by ximeria



Series: Welcome to My Own Personal End Times (multifandom) [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Humor, M/M, Making Out, voyeuristic waterfowl, when non-human entities make out in public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ximeria/pseuds/ximeria
Summary: It seems that making out in public courts chaos.





	Damned Angels and their Angelic Pokerfaces

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Meinposbastard for the quick beta of this at a late hour of the night LOL

Once they got past their initial courtship, as Aziraphale called it (fucking 6000 years of slow burn was _not_ courtship!), it was all pretty much perfect.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise to Crowley that he just couldn't put the cork back in the bottle, now should it? For six bloody millennia he couldn't touch and now that he could, and he knew it was welcome, he just couldn't not reach out whenever Aziraphale was near.

And these days he was, more often than not. Since their respective offices had cut ties for the sake of their sanity and to avoid paperwork, they had both realized that they didn't have to be so careful about being seen in each other's company. No more clandestine meetings in St. James' Park - now they just went there to feed the ducks and walk the paths - hand in hand or arm in arm, because it seemed to be what Aziraphale prefered, and Crowley wasn't going to argue - it meant less distance between them.

There was, however, a small problem. Crowley would like to say that it was probably his fault, because he was more chaotically aligned than Aziraphale. But it was possible he was wrong.

It would start out like this: they'd be walking somewhere, leaning into each other and Aziraphale would be going on about one thing or another and Crowley would be leaning further and further into him and they'd stop, complete disregard of where they were or who was around and Crowley would start by stealing a kiss, which would then turn into Aziraphale putting his arms around him and kissing him back with gusto.

Then they'd be shoving hands inside coats and under shirts.

And then the weird stuff would happen.

The first time it was the ducks in St. James' park.

Crowley heard the commotion first but didn't really care to check it out, just kept nipping at Aziraphale's lips and trying to work his fingers in between the buttons of his waistcoat. Then he felt the soft surprised exhalation from Aziraphale, who then broke the kiss.

"Ahem," Azriaphale said, looking a little ruffled, lips a little red and hair more tousled than normally. He pointed to the side, and Crowley finally managed to get with the program, turning his head to look.

All the ducks and swans of the pond were staring at them. They were all congregating at their end of the pond, all of them _staring_.

They'd kissed and made out plenty of times in the privacy of either the bookshop or Crowley's flat, but this was the first time he'd ever noticed a reaction from anything around them. 

It wasn't the last time either. And, Crowley came to realize, not the worst by far. While they could make themselves unseen by humans, animals were a different matter. And if it was all it was, getting stared at by animals, then so be it. Unfortunately it wasn't.

They were sitting on a bench under a trellis, Aziraphale's hand doing wonderful things to the small of Crowley's back, under the shirt while his tongue was doing obscene things to Crowley's.

An acrid scent hit Crowley and he wrinkled his nose. Something was burning. Aziraphale, obviously realizing he didn't have Crowley's undivided attention, pulled back, looking deliciously ruffled. He pouted and then made a face. "What on earth is that smell?"

"Something smells burnt," Crowley replied, looking up and around them. There was a rosebush off to the side and it was engulfed in flames.

"Goodness me," Aziraphale said, eyes wide, hand still busy rubbing up and down Crowley's back.

"Yeah, eh, burning rosebushes…" Crowley began. Because he'd take the blame for the ducks if necessary, but this?

"Ah, yes," Aziraphale replied, colour high on his cheeks. He closed his eyes for a moment and Crowley held back from leaning in and kissing him again, because this was perhaps a little more serious than voyeuristic fowls.

"The ducks were weird," Crowley said. He was staring at the bush as it stopped burning, a small debilitated plume of smoke rising above it. He could feel Aziraphale's power at work and heat pooled in the pit of his stomach. Where his own felt like, well hellfire at work, Aziraphale's was always like a blast of summer heat and sunshine - the kind that would freckle your skin, but not burn it.

At least nothing else caught fire.

Aziraphale was staring at the bush and when he turned his head to meet Crowley's eyes, he flushed even darker. "Really, my dear, you musn't look at me like that - we're in public, you know."

"I also think we're causing some mild chaos when we make out outside our homes," Crowley said.

"Wards," Aziraphale said, looking like he'd discovered something significant.

"What does warts have to do with a burning rosebush?" Crowley asked, a little confused. It really wasn't helping that Aziraphale was scratching at the sensitive spot between his shoulder blades. Right where his wings would be.

"Wards, darling, not warts." Araphale frowned, that damned look on his face that Crowley refused to call cute, the one he always got when he came across something particularly intriguing. "We both have wards on our homes - which means we're quite safe to practice miracles in there - and apparently we're… bleeding into reality when we…" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

"How" Crowley said, leaning in and kissing his heated cheek, "can you blush so damned prettily at just mentioning kissing and light petting in public, when you had me on my hands and-"

"Crowley, really!" Aziraphale chastised, putting his hand over Crowley's mouth.

Crowley rolled his eyes goodnaturedly. Untangling himself reluctantly from Aziraphale's hold, he took his hand and kissed it. "Hush, angel, let's go home where we're not in danger of burning down half of London - 1666 was bad enough."

"That wasn't either of our faults," Aziraphale said, letting Crowley tug him to his feet.

"And I'd like to keep that track record unbroken," Crowley said, leaning heavily against Aziraphale. "So?"

"If you promise to do the thing with the tongue," Aziraphale said airily.

Crowley nearly stumbled. Damned angels and their angelic poker faces.


End file.
